


Internal Communications

by Goody



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Angst, BAMF!Q eventually, Established Relationship, Hurt!Q, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-graphic and emphasis on attempted, Protective!Bond, Torture, Violence, attempted non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:25:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goody/pseuds/Goody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though Q's expression reeked of pain his message was clear even without words: "Don’t tell them."</p><p> "They’ll kill you," James replied through the clench in his jaw.</p><p> Q shook his head just slightly: "It doesn’t matter. She’s an innocent. It’s our job to protect her."</p><p> Bond’s ice blue eyes flashed with anger: "It’s my job to protect you."</p><p> Q’s lip went up in the tiniest shadow of a smile: "Thank you, but it’s not."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Midnight Constitutionals

**Author's Note:**

> Because I love hurt!Q, especially when James is forced to watch. Have no fear, will be BAMF!Q by the end. Enjoy and please read all tags for warnings! Sorry the smut cuts off before it gets to the good stuff.

It was almost midnight when Bond made it back to his flat, not in the least bit tired, despite the hour, and unsurprised to find Q already there, a cup of tea on the end table as he sat curled up with a book in the lamp light. It had been months since Bond had been surprised to find Q in his home, and there had yet to be a day that he’d been unhappy about it. Tonight was no exception as the younger man sat drowning in sweaters and blankets as he finished off his novel. Tonight it was A Tale of Two Cities, hardcover. It was a quirk of Q’s that Bond had noticed a short time ago that, despite his love of technology, Q never read books electronically, it always had to be a physical copy. Bond assumed it was the only way he could truly separate his work from his very limited personal time.

Now though, the young quartermaster slid in his bookmark and appraised Bond as he came through the door.

 “Q,” Bond greeted with the small smile that was just a fraction wider when they were alone.

 “007,” Q replied, eyebrows raising pleasantly. “Alive, just how I prefer you.”

As Q laid his book aside he watched Bond remove his jacket to reveal a pristine white dress shirt underneath.

 “And not even riddled with bullet holes. This is a mission for the record books. Perhaps I’ll write my report in a bold font to mark the occasion. There’s something to be said for Copperplate Gothic,” Q commented dryly as he strode over to Bond. The agent had been about to take off his cuff links when Q gently took hold of his wrist, stopping him. Humming contently, he planted a chaste kiss to Bond’s palm and then slowly pulled the metal pieces apart, his thumb making small circles on the skin underneath. Bond breathed out, relaxed but standing stock still as he watched Q methodically loosen one cuff, then the other.

 “What would you do if I also told you I brought back all your equipment in working order?”

Q considered it briefly as he ran his hands up Bond’s arms as high as they could go under the soft material and the loose cuffs.

 “That would call for an absolutely inordinate amount of capslocking. I may even have to bring the highlighter function tool into play. This is of course, pending inspection of the equipment,” Q said softly with a playful raise of his eyebrow.

 “I’m confident you’ll be more than satisfied with what I have to give you,” Bond countered as he took the smallest step forward and wrapped his hands around Q’s waist while the younger man’s fingers moved to start slowly undoing Bond’s buttons, both figuratively and literally.

“Did you get your target safely tucked away?” Q asked softly, as he continued to undo Bond’s shirt at a maddeningly slow pace. The quartermaster was aware that Bond’s target of the night, a wisp of a girl who had discovered her boyfriend was the head of a terrorist plot when she accidentally walked in on him killing a man, was safe and sound, but was asking more to find out if Bond thought they might interrupted.

“In places no one will ever find,” Bond assured, mind wandering to wonder just how long it would take him to get Q out of all those sweaters. It wasn’t even cold in the flat; Bond was sure he wore them just to drive him insane with frustration.

 “In one of ours or one of yours?” Q asked, genuinely curious.

 Bond gave a non-apologetic smirk, “One of mine.”

Q shook his head with a sort of fondness, not sure why he was surprised that Bond had chosen to hide the girl away in one of his personal safehouses instead of one of the dozen secure locations owned by MI-6. Q didn’t take the choice personally. He wasn’t involved with the safehouses after all, it was just another way Bond could show off a touch of insubordination to the higher-ups.

“Untrusting bastard,” Q said lightly as he finished off the last of 007’s buttons and slowly pushed the fabric off the agent’s shoulders. It was a routine they had sometimes that Bond had yet to stop enjoying, when James came home safely from a mission Q would dismantle him, literally piece by piece, as slow as he pleased. He hoped the Quartermaster had used the time he spent waiting for him to come up with some creative ideas for the night.

 “I’ll have you know I trust a lot of people. Me. Myself. I.”

 “The list goes on and on,” Q muttered as he pulled Bond’s undershirt up and off in one long pull and stepped in closer to run his hands along the agent’s bare chest.

 “It ends in Q,” Bond breathed out.

 Q glanced up to gauge his sincerity and smiled when he met Bond’s steady gaze, revealing the truth of his statement. Q started what would likely be a stammering response but halted when he caught the faintest hint of gunpowder and a woman’s perfume.

 “Did you run into trouble?” Q asked, concern overriding his joy momentarily. Bond had gone off comms several hours ago, reporting it was all in hand, but if he had fired his weapon afterwards then the extraction had clearly not gone as smoothly as the agent wanted him to believe. Bond just shrugged.

 “There were some men after her. Nothing I couldn’t take care of.”

Q nodded, amazed with himself that he could acknowledge that Bond’s hands had killed someone earlier that night and still feel safe when those same fingers grabbed a tight hold of his hips. Bond seemed genuinely fine however, so Q worked a certain lightness back into his voice as his arms wrapped around Bond’s neck.

 “And did she attempt to reward you for your bravery?”

Bond smirked into Q’s neck, “Why? Would you be jealous?”

“Maybe a little.” Q’s answer surprised Bond enough that he pulled away just a bit and saw Q’s smile reached his eyes. “Sounds rather exciting after all, being rescued by James Bond.”

He had meant for his tone to be playful but Q could feel Bond suddenly go tense and rigid beneath his fingers. He looked up, curious what had put the other man on edge and inhaled sharply when he looked into Bond’s impossibly blue eyes and understood what he’d said wrong.  In that brief moment Q saw shattering pain reflected in Bond’s gaze, years of it, caused by all the people Bond had ever cared for and failed to save; all the people he’d lost and the guilt that came with surviving. Q didn’t know every story, he just knew there were a lot, but before he could apologize for saying anything Bond tenderly pushed back his fringe as his eyes focused back on the present and smiled sadly.

“Pray we never find out.”

Q nodded, understanding, and then his teeth rattled as Bond swooped and kissed him with the force of a truck. Q’s attempt at a slow, languid night of sex was suddenly thrown out the window in exchange for lips against teeth and desperate clawing. It was no longer about gentle touches and teasing lips, Q knew as he was spun and roughly shoved against the wall, Bond’s mouth never leaving his. It was now about passion and feeling alive, assuring the other that they were there, flesh and blood and not going anywhere. It would be rough and messy but also instantly what they both needed. Q yelped as Bond tore off his layers in one pull and then bit down on his shoulder, sucking at every patch of skin he could find. Bond’s hands ran down his backside, grabbing firmly behind each thigh and hoisted Q up so the younger man’s long legs were wrapped around his waist. Pressed against the wall, Q gasped then grabbed James by his hair, pulling his head away from Q’s neck so their lips could meet once more. Bond growled and Q felt his teeth rattle again, but didn’t break contact even as James pulled him closer, away from the wall and carried him towards the bedroom.

An hour later they both lay sprawled on the bed, naked, sweat soaked and even lightly bruised in some places. Q was laid out on top of James, arm across his ridiculously chiselled chest and still panting for breath.

 “If I don’t make it into work tomorrow because I can’t walk, you’re the one explaining it to M,” Q mumbled with his face buried contently against Bond’s shoulder, not actually complaining about the way his legs felt like jelly.

Bond chuckled into Q’s hair. “Of course. ‘Sorry M, I shagged my quartermaster into next week. He won’t be able to make it in I’m afraid.’”

 “Next week, sounds about right.” Q’s words were slurring and James knew he was moments away from falling into sleep so pulled him close and then rolled him over gently, bringing the blanket up to his chin to keep out the chill.

Q sighed, settling in as Bond kissed his hair. “Don’t be too late. Neighbours are liable to think you’re being burgled. Again.”

Bond smiled as he moved gracefully into a sitting position and silently pulled on underwear and sweatpants.

“Promise,” he said softly as he moved around the bed, kneeling at Q’s side to face him completely, to look over every bit of the spectacular creature that he called his own.

Q’s eyes opened a sliver as Bond kissed him and he smiled, “I’ll be here when you get back.”

 “I know,” Bond replied, his own smile an impossible mix of joy for what he had in this moment, and sadness for things that had not yet come to pass, but would. They always did. He shook his head and clicked off the light as he strode out of the bedroom in search of his sneakers, trying to banish the dark memories back where they belonged. It was thoughts like those that forced him into this routine in the first place, instead of letting him be at peace with Q in his arms for the night. Insomnia was a constant in Bond’s life, living the life he did. Bond really only needed three or four hours of sleep when he wasn’t injured, which admittedly wasn’t often lately, but he was a soldier, trained to go without rest and in return his body simply didn’t require it a great deal of the time. The rest of the time his mind simply wouldn’t allow it, plaguing him with nightmares and cold sweats until he collapsed from exhaustion. Which is why he was pulling on a sweater instead of laying in bed where he knew he rightly belonged, but jogging always helped to clear his head and tire him out properly for a good rest.

Dear god, he was like a puppy who needed walking.

He had explained as much to Q months back, that as much as he enjoyed laying in bed with him he couldn’t simply lay there all night when sleep was elusive and had appreciated beyond measure that the young man simply accepted the information and took it as a fact and not as any reflection on himself as a sleeping companion. Bond had been flexible though, and said he could either leave for his jog at night or early in the morning. Q had asked that he go at night then, as he would much prefer to fall asleep alone than wake up that way. 

Bond locked the door then took off into the darkness of London. He hoped he didn’t run across any muggings that night, he had thwarted half a dozen crimes in passing during his nightly runs and actually enjoyed the meagre physical practice it gave him, but dealing with the hysterical victim afterwards tended to be rather bothersome.  He supposed that wasn’t the most heroic stance, but Bond never fancied himself a true hero anyway.

It was something that Q understood about him, and Bond knew it was one of the main reasons their relationship worked at all. Q knew that Bond couldn’t save everyone, that he had failed as many times as he had succeeded and that he was broken in every way imaginable. For reasons beyond comprehension, Q understood this, accepted it and couldn’t care in the least. He was not in a relationship with 007 the secret agent, he was with James Bond, the man who came with imperfections and subtleties and always, always surprises. And Q loved surprises.

Bond smiled as he got back to the flat, not quite tired enough yet and wondered if Q would appreciate an early morning surprise in bed. Instead, Bond’s blood ran cold as he turned the corner to find four armed men in his living room with his quartermaster on his knees, bloodied and bruised, head pulled back by his hair and a gun under his jaw.

 “Mr. Bond, so happy you could finally join us.”

TBC

 


	2. Not Bond's kind of bondage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A plot appears. Another reminder to read warnings and enjoy!

Bond’s instinct was to rush the room and kill these men without hesitation and he even took two steps forward to do so, despite being unarmed, before he was stopped by two things: the man nearest him pointing a gun at his chest and the bigger man across the room simultaneously pulling back the hammer on the weapon pointed at Q’s head.

“Now, now Mr. Bond,” the leader tsked from the couch. “Would we have greeted you in this manner if we wanted you to move? That will not end well for yourself or your young friend, I’m afraid.”

Across the room Q’s eyes were wide. He was bound and had been gagged to keep from shouting a warning to James but the pleading in his eyes was clear:

 _Don’t surrender. Not because of me._  

The gun against Q’s head was a far greater motivator than Q’s gaze however and Bond forced his stance to relax and put his hands out to the side as he met Q’s gaze with focused reassurance.

_Not surrender, reconnaissance. We’ll get out of this._

“Excellent. A very good choice,” the leader said as he waved his two free men in Bond’s direction. “Search him, then tie him up.”

Bond let himself be manhandled, cursing that he was never moved close to any of the weapons or signalling devices hidden around his home. He was simply patted down and then tied to a kitchen chair with duct tape, facing Q a few feet away. He took a quick assessment of the situation.

The men were not nervous, but relaxed and held their weapons with ease. They were all Caucasian, the leader in his early 40’s, brown hair cut short and graying in areas, medium build. They all looked to be in shape, the biggest of them being the one who had yet to release his grip on Q’s hair or the gun pointed at his head, giving Bond no opportunity to fight back without risking Q’s life. Bond had to work to keep his expression neutral as he looked over his quartermaster. The young man had obviously been taken completely by surprise; he was missing his glasses and was dressed in only pajama bottoms.  The shame was that one of Q’s proudest anti-kidnapping defenses was the tracker chip and microphone built into his glasses, which also sent out a distress signal to HQ if they were broken.  As it was, since Q had undoubtedly been attacked while asleep the glasses would be sitting safely on the nightstand in the bedroom, completely useless to them. Bond could see bruises forming on Q’s jaw and torso and there was a cut above his left eye, but other than that he was functional and alive. Bond’s goal was to keep it that way.

 “He’s secure Franco,” one of the men tying Bond up reported to the leader.

“Well, I guess we can get down to business then,” Bond said casually, cutting off Franco before he could start another spiel. “So, who the hell are you and what do you want?”

“So impatient Mr. Bond. No interest in small talk … I’m hurt,” Franco replied with a smile as he holstered his gun and sat down on the arm of the couch, close enough to speak to Bond but also keep Q in his peripheral vision. “But if you must know, let’s say I am ‘friends’ with William Bythell.” 

 “Ah,” Bond nodded, understanding immediately. He looked across at Q who was breathing heavily through the duct tape he’d been gagged with and was making an effort to show no recognition of the name, though they both knew that Bythell was the former boyfriend of the girl Bond had hidden away only a few hours ago after she witnessed Bythell murder someone. 

“Indeed,” Franco agreed. “So, you’ve taken something of his, well, someone, and he’d greatly like her back. Sooner, rather than later. Now, I’m more than reasonable Mr. Bond, this doesn’t have to get messy; tell us where she is and I won’t even kill your little bed warmer here.”

“Seems uncharacteristically reasonable. And myself?”

“You die in every scenario I’m afraid,” Franco said unapologetically with fire in his eyes. “You killed two of our men this evening while protecting the little whore. Blood for blood, you understand.”

“Shame, I’m quite attached to being alive. I really can’t see us reaching an agreement in this matter then, especially if you think I give a shit about some Uni kid I picked up in a bar over the life of my own target,” Bond replied with nonchalance. It was a risk, attempting to distance himself from Q and pretend he didn’t care what happened to the younger man, but after all his years Bond knew that the worst thing the enemy could learn about was what you truly cared for.

Franco laughed and stood up, pulling out his gun once more as he approached Q and ran the barrel down the quartermaster’s cheek who did his best to ignore the weapon and stared at the wall straight ahead.

 “You’re very good Mr. Bond, I shall truly have to be careful with you. I very nearly would have believed you don’t care about the boy, but you see we had some time to get acquainted before you joined us,” Franco said. Bond’s stomach clenched at the thought of what these men had done before he arrived, and he looked Q over for more injuries than the obvious but saw nothing. “Not to worry, he was very brave; didn’t tell us a thing. In fact he never said a word except to call out your name. How sweet and decidedly uncharacteristic for some quick shag you took home. Then we found these.”

Franco threw two familiar white security cards on the ground in front of Bond’s feet, one with Bond’s picture and one with Q’s.

“Identical blank security passes. We know you’re with MI6 Mr. Bond, which leads to the obvious conclusion that your little friend here works in the same place. Tsk, tsk, tsk, taking your work home with you, never turns out well,” he lectured as he ruffled Q’s hair.

 The knot in Bond’s stomach clenched tighter as he was caught in his lie and tried to recover, “He doesn’t have the information you want.”

 “I never imagined he did,” Franco replied, strolling around the room now. “I doubt children get to work with sensitive intelligence.”

 James was almost certain if Q wasn’t gagged he would have laughed at that.

 “I am curious what our young man’s job is however; mail runner, coffee boy or perhaps he presses those suits of yours,” Franco hypothesized and yanked the tape off Q’s mouth without warning. The quartermaster hissed in a surprised breath and then was forced to look at Franco as the hand in his hair tilted his head up. “What is it you do at MI6 boy, and whatever shall we call you?”

 “Sir would be an acceptable start,” Q replied, surprised with how unshaken he sounded. Bond flinched before the backhand even connected with Q’s jaw, knowing what Franco’s response to the snide remark would be.

 “Well, now I’m curious if you’re brave or stupid,” Franco muttered as Q fell to the floor.

“Funny, I've been wondering the same thing about you,” the Quartermaster mumbled from the floor, loud enough to be clearly heard.

Meanwhile, Bond clenched his jaw to stop himself from shouting out in rage and focused on trying to pull apart his bindings while Franco was looking away. Unfortunately, there was still another man positioned behind Bond who saw him pulling at the tape and dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder as a warning. Bond immediately stopped and tried not to growl in frustration as he watched Q slowly pull himself back up onto his knees from the floor. Bond had been in this situation many times by himself, tied up with bad guys demanding information, no one looking for him, no backup on its way, but the problem was he was not by himself. He could handle being tied up, tortured, even killed alone, but Q had no place in this, had not conceivably been trained for it, and most importantly did not ask to be involved. He was no field agent, but Bond had tempted him to his bed and then left him unguarded. It seemed pain was the constant price of Bond’s affections and always would be.

His main goal now was to get Franco’s attention back on himself.

“Very impressive work tracking me down, clearly you’ve been watching your Sherlock. I’m surprised you need me to find the girl at all,” Bond taunted.

Franco turned, “We were only able to pick your trail back up after you dropped her off somewhere. An Aston Martin isn’t exactly hard to spot.”

Bond saw Q roll his eyes; the quartermaster had told him the exact same thing on several occasions and now his gaze clearly said, “ _Excellent, we’ve been captured by second rate criminals because you won’t drive anything that lacks flare and expense_.”

“ _Don’t pretend you don’t like having a classy place to install your gadgets_ ,” Bond’s expression told him in reply.

“But it is hard to follow,” Bond said to Franco.

“Enough small talk Mr. Bond,” Franco became serious, sitting in front of James once more with his gun on his lap. “The girl. I give you this one last chance to tell me where she is before this gets very messy.”

 “As charming as you’ve been, the answer remains no.”

 “She means nothing to you. She means nothing to anyone,” Franco urged him. “No one will notice she’s gone. They don’t even need to know you told us. Barely a mark on you or your young friend yet. You can tell your superiors you know nothing of how we found her and continue on with your exciting work, no mark on your record.”

 “That would be a little difficult considering I die in every scenario,” Bond reminded him of his own promise made minutes earlier. “So please, go to hell.”

 Franco sighed in disappointment and holstered his gun.

 “Untie the boy.”

Bond felt his heart stop in that moment. He wasn’t sure what was about to happen but he knew one thing for certain, it was either going to be a terrifyingly long night, or a tragically short one.

TBC


	3. Close to Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q wondered how viciously Bond would kill them when he got free and hoped he got to watch.

Q felt the tape around his wrists cut free but before he could think of fighting back his left wrist was twisted and pulled straight up behind him, forcing him forward with a grunt to brace himself with his right arm to keep from smashing his face in the floor.

Q’s breathing was panicked and he felt sick to his stomach, knowing what was next, but still he looked up and locked eyes with Bond, who was struggling to get free again unsuccessfully.

 “Don’t tell them …” Q said firmly. Then there was a terrible cracking sound as his pinky finger was pulled from its socket. He just managed to bury his face in the carpet to muffle his scream as agony shot down his arm.

“Stop it!” Bond demanded when the man holding Q wrapped his hand around the next finger. “He doesn’t know where she is!”

“As I said, I believe you entirely on that front,” Franco said. “However, I do not have the time or tools necessary at the moment to torture the information I need out of a trained double-0 agent. What I do have is the ability to hurt your young friend in such ways that you will be begging me to let you kill the girl yourself. At what time we reach that point is entirely up to you.”

Franco smiled and nodded at his man. Bond could do nothing but sit there and watch as another sickening crack filled the same space and Q screamed again, face pressed into the floor and free hand clawing at the carpet as he trembled in agony.

“You don’t have to do this,” Bond said suddenly to Franco, desperate to stop this. “Bythell’s your superior. The girl testifies, he goes down. Just him. Then you’re in charge of everything. This could be good for you.”

Franco chuckled, then kicked Q in the ribs hard enough that his broken hand was released and he could roll over, arm clutched to his chest.

 “You’re a double-0 agent Mr. Bond, you serve Queen and country. Surely you can understand the concept of loyalty,” Franco admonished him.

“Of course,” Bond didn’t relent, holding eye contact and making an effort not to look at Q writhing on the floor. “But I also understand ambition and how the two don’t often go hand in hand.”

“As much as I love the subject, we’re not here to talk about me. This is about you, and the girl and whether or not this young man still has all his appendages when you finally tell me where she is,” Franco replied, expertly turning the conversation back on topic.

Bond breathed out loudly in frustration and looked at Q who was crumpled on the floor but managed to meet his eye, and though his expression reeked of pain his message was clear: _Don’t tell them._

  _They’ll kill you_ , James replied through the clench in his jaw.

 Q shook his head just slightly: _It doesn’t matter. She’s an innocent. It’s our job to protect her._

 Bond’s ice blue eyes flashed with anger: _It’s my job to protect you_.

 Q’s lip went up in the tiniest shadow of a smile: _Thank you, but it’s not._

The smile vanished instantly when Q was kicked onto his back and Franco’s heavy boot dropped down on his broken hand. His back arced up in pain and he bit his lip, just barely able to keep himself from screaming as the broken bones were grinded into the floor.

“I can’t tell you where she is!” Bond shouted his eyes going incredibly cold. “But I can tell you if you lay one more finger on him I will take immense pleasure in ensuring your death is as slow as humanly possible. Regimes will rise and fall in the time it takes you to die.”

“You can understand my reluctance to be shaken by empty threats,” Franco said, unmoved, then motioned to one of his men against the far wall that had thus far been silent. “Red, why don’t you come over here and show Mr. Bond your artistic skills?”

Red looked to be in his early thirties, with greasy slicked back hair and a switchblade in his hand which he spun with practiced ease as he strode over.  Q felt his other arm kicked aside and grunted as he saw the thug who broke his fingers stomp down on his wrist just as Franco had, effectively pinning him to the floor.

“Red is very talented,” Franco whispered in Q’s ear loud enough for Bond to hear. “You should feel very honored to be a canvas for his work.”

“You’ll excuse my lack of enthusiasm,” Q breathed out through gritted teeth and stared at the ceiling, giving himself a brief moment of denial about what was happening. Red slowly removed his jacket as he approached, laying it aside almost ritualistically before coming to stand over Q. In an act of defiance Q kicked out at him, waiting until the right moment where he might catch Red in the knee, his only hope of disabling him. Red saw it coming easily though and batted his legs away to move into a position on top of Q, straddling the smaller man’s hips and running his knife blade lovingly down Q’s bare torso.

 “Shhhhh,” Red shushed him in an incredibly uncomforting tone which was also unnecessary as Q stopped struggling as soon as the sharp metal touched his skin. “I’ll make you something very nice … something close to your heart.”

Red was not speaking metaphorically. Q felt the knife press down on the center of his breastbone. Tears leaked unwanted from his eyes as he stared straight up at the ceiling and willed his mind to go somewhere else, anywhere, preferably somewhere warm and safe. His mind oh so briefly flashed back to only two days before, though it seemed a lifetime past, to the morning Q had woken up to find James in the kitchen, attempting to cook him breakfast but succeeding only in swearing a blue streak at Q’s digital stove that wouldn’t stop beeping at him or leave any burner turned on for a consistent amount of time. A flustered Bond had eventually forced Q, unshowered and unshaved, into his clothes and brought them out for brunch instead, with Q trying not to laugh the entire time.

He came rushing out of the memory as the knife pierced his skin. Blood pounded in Q’s ears as fast as it started leaking from his torn flesh and he screamed and bucked, anything to get free and away from the agony tearing slices into his chest.

“Get the hell away from him!” he heard Bond shout desperately.

“Not to worry Mr. Bond,” Red replied, his voice dazed with joy as he pushed his left hand down on Q’s chest to keep him still while his right continued to deliberately slide the knife slowly through Q’s flesh. “I’m making something you can both enjoy.”

Q could barely breathe through the pain and was taking in stuttering breaths as his legs kicked but couldn’t dislodge the bigger man from his hips. Red leaned closer to examine his work and Q cringed inside, as he felt what could only be the man’s erection pressed against his stomach. Dear god, just when he thought this couldn’t get any worse it turned out the psychopath was well and truly getting off on torturing him.

Just a few feet away the last intruder was standing behind an irate Bond, hands on the agent’s shoulders to keep him seated and restrained while also ensuring he watched the torment his lover was going through. The second reason was unneeded though as Bond couldn’t tear his eyes away from the terrible spectacle just two feet in front of him, watching helplessly as his quartermaster was pinned down and screaming in agony all because of him. Bond was a man of action, of physical combat and death and he was certain no bullet had ever hurt near as much as being forced to watch helplessly as the man he loved was tortured.

Tears were leaking unwanted from Q’s eyes as he thrashed about on the floor. He had wanted to be strong, both for himself and Bond, and had told himself he would not beg for mercy from the scum that was attacking them. In truth though, the pain was so great that he longed to plead for it to stop and the only thing that stopped him was the complete lack of oxygen to do so. Every time he managed to suck in any air at all he seemed to lose it again with a new scream as the thug’s knife ripped through him, creating new waves of agony. He wondered if he might suffocate while being filleted, and in the terrible silence that followed for a moment he could actually hear his flesh tear and had to work very hard not to be sick with the realization. Then suddenly the knife was gone from his flesh and though the cuts inflicted pulsed with agony Q found he could gasp in sobbing breaths at the very least.

 “Perfect,” Red commented from above with a smirk, moving his body so Bond could see what he had carved. “A little something for him to remember you by.”

Q didn’t look down, in no way concerned with what had been done, only that it had stopped, but when he turned his head he was amazed at the pure, almost maniacal rage that had come upon Bond’s face as he pulled desperately at his restraints.

“You son of a bitch!” Bond yelled, eyes bloodshot as he screamed at Red who was still straddling Q’s hips. “I’ll tear out your eyes and shove them down your throat so you can watch your own heart stop beating if you touch him again.”

Q managed to lift his head the smallest amount necessary to peer down at his chest and felt his own anger bubble up through the pain he was in when he saw what had been done to him. In jagged block lettering about the size of a fist and dripping blood, Red had carved a distressingly familiar number.

_007_

They had carved Bond’s call number into his chest. Q wondered how viciously Bond would kill them when he got free and hoped he got to watch.

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if my goal was to draw out this h/c for as long as humanly possible, I like to think I'm doing a pretty good job. Next chapter gets a little darker and BAMFier for all involved.


	4. Hear No Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All warnings still apply. Thanks all. 
> 
> *cuddles poor Q* I'll get you some tea when we're done.

 

 “Really Mr. Bond, I believe making threats is our job,” Franco continued, unmoved by Bond’s outburst. “Speaking of which, shall we continue to entertain ourselves with your young friend or are you ready to tell us where the girl is?”

 

 Bond’s breathing remained ragged and his eyes so cold they should have frozen Franco’s heart where he stood but still he let his silence be his answer. He knew if he opened his mouth at all again he would tell them where she was, would give them any information they wanted to keep them away from the brilliant young man they held down on the floor. It was quickly becoming too much for him to justify; Q’s suffering was pushing him over the edge of loyalty to Queen and country and deep down he knew it would take very little more to topple him completely.

 

 “A shame. Perhaps you’ll be more willing to talk if I take you up on your suggestion regarding the tearing out of eyeballs. Red, I don’t believe this young man needs two of them. See what you can do about that,” Franco instructed as calmly as ordering a coffee.

 

 Red smiled, happy to oblige and all too suddenly Q felt a large hand on his face, with rough fingers prying open his left eyelid. Forced to look up he saw the terrifying gleam of metal heading straight for his cornea. It was the most horrifying thing Q had ever seen and he couldn’t move, couldn’t even look away.

 

 “No! No, wait, please! Stop! Stop!” Q shouted and squirmed, tears streaming down his face but he was held firm by the three men. He had resolved not to beg, to be strong and not give in to these thugs, but as he watched the blade come down he was overcome with a primal fear so raw that there was no longer conscious thought or reason or resolve, just an instinctual desperation to escape and remain whole.

 

 “No! Wait! Stop!” Bond shouted in unison with his quartermaster, his blood chilling at the scene before him; Q held down, bleeding and begging as a knife descended towards his eye. Those beautiful eyes that saw everything, that calculated and computed algorithms with lightning speed, that watched over Bond on missions, that swept over the agent when he returned home looking for injuries, that swept over his naked body and smiled. The eyes he looked into at night and got up for in the mornings. His world would end without those eyes.

 

 “Stop please,” he yelled again, the knife so close to scratching along Q’s cornea. “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you where she is!”

 

 The knife disappeared and Q sobbed with relief, his hysteria having completely deafened him to the situation; he heard only snatches of the conversation happening around him as he thrashed in a mix of agony and relief.

 

 Franco had stilled Red’s hand but raised his eyebrows, “I’m waiting Mr. Bond.”

 

 “1321 Isabella Road, apartment 8,” Bond answered after just the slightest hesitation.

 

 Nobody moved as Franco stared at Bond, studying him, searching for cracks or perhaps waiting for them to form. After a long minute of silence Bond sighed as Franco motioned for Red to stop and also lifted his own foot off Q’s pinned down wrist.  

 

 “Please don’t think that I believe for one moment you’ve given us the actual address,” Franco clarified as Q instantly curled his arms into his chest, trembling with agony. “But, it would be unfair of me to call you a liar without at least checking out your story.”

 

 “It’s the truth,” Bond’s jaw twitched, eyes still on Q as he waited for the knife-wielding bastard to get off him.

 

 “Of course,” Franco muttered, pulling out a cell phone. “Settle in lads, I need you rested for round two if Mr. Bond’s address doesn’t check out. And double check his restraints. No surprises now.”

 

 James felt rough hands check the tape around his wrists he’d been desperately pulling at, but it was wrapped tightly and continued to have no give. That was most considerably unfortunate as Red still had not removed himself from his position straddling Q’s hips and Bond wanted nothing more than to throttle the man.

 

 His own hands now free, Q shakily attempted to push the man off him but Red only smiled and caught the young man’s wrist, jostling his broken fingers.

 

 “Ah,” Q gasped, pausing his struggles once more when the knife blade returned and ran along his neck.

 

 “I told you where she is, now get off him!” Bond demanded, pulling forward but felt the hands on his wrists immediately tug him back roughly.

 

 Ignoring the agent completely Red just smiled as he slowly drew the knife down Q’s collar bone, watching intently as the pulse of his neck beat against the cool metal, his eyes gleaming with pleasure and what Bond feared could only be lust. His fears were confirmed when Red leaned down lower and began to grind his hips against Q’s until both their breaths shuddered for opposing reasons.

 

 “Franco,” Red called out cheerfully, never taking his eyes off Q. “I was thinking, I never did get a Christmas present from you this year.”

 

 Franco looked up from his phone and raised an eyebrow, clearly understanding Red’s request and unimpressed.

 

 Red shrugged innocently and looked to the other man beside him for support, “You said we had lots of time, isn’t that right Sam?”

 

 “Lots of time,” Sam, the one who had broken Q’s fingers, agreed with a leer matching Red’s as he watched Q trembling against the knife blade, afraid to speak with the sharp edge so close to his throat, though his eyes were wide with a new kind of panic as he understood what it was Red planned to do.

 

 “No!” Bond protested desperately but was again ignored as Franco shook his head in what would turn out to be fake exasperation.

 

 “Fine, but make it quick. And take him into the bedroom, I don’t need to see either of your naked asses doing that shit.”

 

 “Time to have some fun, kid.” With a triumphant smirk Red closed and pocketed his knife with one hand, while the other stayed clasped around Q’s wrist and hauled the smaller man to his feet with a cry.

 

 “I’m entirely uninterested. Get your hands off me!” Trembling from a mix of fear and agony from his various injuries, even Q was unimpressed by the punch he attempted to throw at Red’s head once he was standing. The larger man laughed at him, spinning Q around with his own momentum and then pulling his back against his chest to restrain him in a bear hug, while grinding his hard-on against Q’s ass.

 

 “Feisty one,” Red whispered happily. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

 

 Three feet away, Bond was pure rage. He was no longer capable of forming words through his anger, forming only hisses and growls as he pulled and tore at his restraints even as the man behind him held down his shoulders to keep him back, blocking all attempts to gain momentum.

 

 Red smiled as he turned Q and himself to face Bond and taunted cruelly, “Hope you didn’t loosen him up too much before we got here, Mr. Bond.”

 

 The agent surged forward in response, like a tiger on a chain, coming up short but still growling in anger.

 

 Sam joined in and grabbed Q’s jaw, making a show of examining him, “I wouldn’t worry too much, skinny ass like this, he’ll be tight no matter what.”

 

 “Guess we won’t know until we check for ourselves,” Red replied. Before Q could say anything in reply he felt fingers tighten around his throat, cutting off his oxygen and any response he may have had. “Save your breath kid, you’ll be screaming again soon enough.”

 

 “Really? I’ve got other plans for that mouth,” Sam threw in with a laugh at the panic in Q’s eyes as he struggled for air and freedom.

 

 “What did I say about the bedroom?” Franco reminded them loudly, still not looking up from his phone.

 

 “We’re going,” Red muttered, knowing not to push his boss’s patience any further. Q felt Red’s huge arms forcing him around towards the hallway, and in that last moment he managed to lock eyes with 007.

 

 "No!" James was panting with rage and frustration, leaned forward as far as his bonds would allow, his mouth shouting obscenities while his eyes burned with fear and remorse that he couldn’t say aloud.

 

  _I’m sorry Q_ , his eyes were shouting the words. _I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you. Please hold on. Please._

 As Q was hauled across the room he quenched his panic for just a moment and his lip went up in the smallest hint of a smile as his eyes cleared of fear and he looked straight at James.

 

  _I love you_ , he said, as loud and clear as if it had been said aloud. _No matter what._

 

 Q liked to think James would reply in the same, that his eyes would shine with the mirror response of love and devotion, but truth be told without his glasses he could barely make out the shape of the agent across the room, let alone his exact expression so had no idea what James would try to tell him in their last real moment together. Perhaps it was better that way, at least the entirety of this truly terrible night was literally nothing more than a blur in Q’s mind, and he could always imagine what James had said in reply. After all, Q had a truly wonderful imagination.

 

 Q’s train of thought abruptly changed as the hand around his throat finally allowed him a breath of air, but his relief was short lived as that same hand then moved down his body, grabbing and fondling in areas no one but James was supposed to touch. He tried to kick and struggle despite the pain that sparked from his injuries, but his wrists were held firmly and a third hand, Sam’s, was in his hair, wrenching back his head to expose his throat as he was pushed down the hallway.

 

 The bedroom was the second on the right. It still had the faint lingering scent of sex from just a few hours ago and Q had to hold back a sob at the realization that he was to be raped in the same bed he had been cared for more than he ever had in his life.

 

 He bit down on his urge to plead with them to stop, to not do this and just let him go, fully aware they would only get off more on his pleas for mercy than his silence.

 

 “So quiet boy, nothing to say for yourself? Doesn’t matter, we’re going to have you begging for it soon enough,” Red’s cruel voice whispered in his ear as he was maneuvered through the doorway.

 

 Then suddenly Red’s hands were gone from his body, pushing him into Sam who kept a tight grip on Q’s hair as he pulled the quartermaster close. “Let’s see how well Bond’s trained you.”

 

 And then Q was stumbling across the room, pushed harshly until his legs struck the bedframe and he collapsed face first onto the sheets. He cried out as his broken fingers took the brunt of the landing and somewhere in the back of his mind, quite removed and where he’d desperately like to stay, he thought it such a shame that he was getting blood on their good sheets.

 

 This thought disappeared immediately when an incredibly strong hand latched onto his neck, forcing him to stay facedown against the mattress while another hand dipped below the waist band of his pajamas.

 

 Resolved not to simply lay there and allow this to happen, Q forced his eyes open to take stock of his surroundings, to find some way to fight back.

 

 But the only thing he felt was his clothes being torn, the only thing he heard was cruel laughter and taunts and the only thing he saw was Red across the room, shutting the door with a click of finality.

 

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

 

 Out in the living room, Bond was going through incredibly similar feelings of helplessness and fear as Q, but with an added layer of guilt and rage, to the point where he was truly getting on the nerves of his captors.

 

 “Do shut up Mr. Bond, and calm down before you hurt yourself. I wasn’t motivated by your threats five minutes ago, and I assure you nothing’s changed since then,” Franco snapped with frustration and trying to cover up the honest degree of fear coursing through him as Bond’s threats became increasingly graphic and terrifyingly sincere.

 

 “I’ll remember that when I gut your men in front of you and save you for last to …”

 

 James had more to say but his heart jumped into his throat at the sounds that suddenly came from down the hallway. All three men in the living room were startled by it, James most of all. He had been terrified and half mad watching Q be dragged away, not being able to help, not knowing what was happening to him. In some ways James had hoped he could hear him despite how terrible it would be, could know what was happening, and not at the same time.

 

He had never wanted to hear this though.

 

The sound was gunshots, and they had come from the bedroom.

 

TBC


End file.
